Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
She shrugs like it’s obvious. “History doesn’t disappear because you decide it’s inconvenient.”
I feel heat crawl up the back of my neck. “We don’t have history. We dated. It didn’t work. I ended it.”
“You walked away,” she corrects. “That’s not the same thing.”
“It is when someone refuses to hear no,” I say, my voice tight now. “Which you clearly still can’t.”
Cherry’s eyes narrow, not because she’s hurt. She’s plotting.
“I think,” she says, “that maybe you hate seeing me happy. That you want what you can’t have, and it’s definitely affecting your behavior around me.”
A crack splinters through me, not loudly, but clean and decisive. “You are delusional,” I hiss, my temper flaring hotter than ever. “And this—this right here—is exactly why I broke it off. You rewrite reality to suit whatever version of the story makes you feel relevant.”
Cherry doesn’t even have the grace to look ashamed, her lips pursing into a satisfied smirk. “I know you don’t mean that.”
“Jesus Christ,” I bark and note a couple of heads turn our way. “You are certifiably crazy.”
Cherry reaches a hand out, a sympathetic smile on her face. “You don’t—”
I jerk backward, not wanting her to touch me and trigger the last of my control. My voice rises unbidden, and I can’t swallow it down because getting my point across to this woman only seems possible with loud words. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I yell, standing up from my seat. “I haven’t thought about you in months. I don’t want you. I don’t miss you. And I sure as hell don’t care who you married.”
Somewhere in my head, I register that the chatter in the restaurant has stopped and things are very quiet. A quick glance assures me that all eyes are on us now.
And yet, I can’t seem to stop. I’m so fucking furious at her, I want there to be no misunderstanding of my position, and well… if the entire team knows about it, oh well.
“You lied to your husband,” I continue, anger coating every word. “You put words in my mouth, stirred up bullshit, and now you’re standing here acting like I owe you? You need to get a fucking grip, Cherry.”
My last word—her name—comes out rough, and I’m left almost breathless. I suck in a lungful of oxygen, feel the tightness in the room. I’ll have some explaining to do for sure.
A little more in control now that I’ve purged, I lower my voice so only she can hear. “Do you understand now?”
Cherry’s mouth curves into a slow, satisfied smirk. “Oh… I understand perfectly,” she purrs, and then looks past my shoulder.
I have a pit in my stomach as I follow her gaze and see Juno standing a few yards away, Evan beside her, camera lifted and steady.
Filming.
Cherry’s voice is soft when she speaks again. “I know how much you hate the spotlight.” My attention turns back to her but she’s stepping away, already disengaging, already done. “Looks like you’re right in the center of it now.”
And then she turns and sashays off, leaving me standing there—with half a meal untouched, my meeting forgotten, and the sickening realization that every word I said was exactly what she wanted.
And Juno filmed it all.
For a second, it feels like I’ve been punched square in the chest. It’s not that Juno’s here. It’s not even that people are watching.
It’s that she made a choice to have that camera rolling and caught every bit of it.
Another wave of anger strikes, and I walk straight toward Juno. “Can I talk to you?” I say tightly. “Outside.”
Juno puts her hand on Evan’s forearm, giving it a slight push of pressure, and he lowers the camera. The fact she let him film me coming at her hits me harder than anything Cherry said.
I pivot and walk out of The Blue Line, knowing Juno will follow. I vaguely hear conversations restarting, knowing this will sweep through the Wildfire team within minutes.
I don’t slow down, walking straight through the lobby and out the double doors into the parking lot.
My heart is pounding so hard it’s almost painful as I turn on Juno, who is indeed right behind me. “I can’t believe you filmed that,” I snarl.
Her brows knit together, defensive but honest. “Crosby… it just happened. Instinct.”
“Instinct,” I repeat flatly. “To pull out a camera and film my personal life.”
“That’s my job,” she says.
“Your job is to report on things that matter, not trivial drama stirred up by”—I hesitate, pointing back at the building—“a crazy woman. You know she’s full of shit and yet you gave her credibility.”
“Yes,” she says, keeping her voice level and soft, because she knows she’s dealing with a feral animal right now. “It is my job to report on things that matter, and this could develop into an issue that affects the team dynamics.”